


You're Just Too Good to be True

by purpleleafbeech



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, a little swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28211808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleleafbeech/pseuds/purpleleafbeech
Summary: The BAU has a unique stress-relieving past time that brings out the creative side in all of them. Reader takes this as the perfect opportunity to tell Dr. Spencer Reid how she feels about him ... or, more accurately, show him.
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 41





	You're Just Too Good to be True

**Author's Note:**

> This fic uses she/her pronouns for the reader. Set around Season 3 or 4 with some minor changes to accommodate the reader's character. Completely self indulgent writing inspired by my recent obsession with a song which will ... become clear as you read along.

Her eyes flitted aimlessly around the bullpen, searching for a target to land on. Chewing on the end of her pen kept her jaw in constant motion, focusing all of her pent-up energy onto a specific task. The distraction wouldn’t last long — she knew that — hence, the quest for something more enticing. 

It was late January in Quantico, and the BAU squad was getting antsy. With no new cases in weeks and stacks of paperwork slowly dwindling away, the usually high-functioning team of profilers had been resorting to games of paper football and building pen rockets to keep their minds engaged — and it was only half-working. It was during these periods of drought at the Bureau that made every agent secretly wish there were more serial killers to catch. (Of course, no one ever said that out loud.)

Winter wasn’t a particularly cheery time in Virginia either, and the season was definitely taking its toll on Y/N. After glancing at the clock on her computer ( _only 2:30? sooo much time to kill_ ) she turned to look out the window next to her desk. All the once immaculate snow had been turned into grey sludge in the parking lot, casting an altogether dismal hue on the scene below. She could see her little red Volvo parked in a far corner and stared longingly at her chariot that would, in a few short hours, take her away from this festering pool of boredom and on to something more stimulating. But alas, only minutes had passed — the computer now read 2:33. 

There was only one thing that would salvage a day like today. Grabbing her coffee cup from her desk, she made a loop around the bullpen and went into the kitchen to get a refill. Once replenished, she sipped casually as she approached Agent Morgan’s desk, finding him tied up in an intense game of thumb war with Agent Prentiss. 

“Derek…” Y/N ventured, propping herself up on a stack of files on his desk. 

“Y/N, I hate to break it to you, but I’m kinda caught up in a battle for my life here. Can this wait?” Emily snickered at Derek’s admission, jabbing her thumb more aggressively at his unrelenting hand. 

“Afraid not. I just want to test the waters. Do you think — um, just a thought but — do you think maybe now would be a good time, you know…?” Y/N raised her eyebrows from above the rim of her coffee cup as Derek finally met her gaze, a knowing grin spreading over his face as he suddenly dropped Emily’s hand. 

“Hey!” she cried. “Time for what?” She glanced between Y/N and Derek’s faces, searching for clues. 

“Gumdrop, coming through with the good ideas! I’ll get the hat.” Derek started rummaging through his desk drawers. “We’ll have to add your name of course, Prentiss,” he added absentmindedly, moving to tear up bits of paper and scribbling furiously on them. 

“For what? I’m so lost — don’t tell me this is some kind of hazing ritual,” she said, glaring at Derek. 

Emily had only started a month before, and thus hadn’t yet been introduced to a certain team ritual that helped warm them on those cold nights in the bullpen. 

“Don’t worry Agent Prentiss, I have a feeling you will be exceptionally good at this,” Y/N winked at her with a satisfied smile. “Derek, I’ll be awaiting your instructions.” 

“Over and out, Princess Lolly.” Derek tipped an imaginary hat as he rushed away to begin preparations. As no BAU agent could escape Agent Morgan’s nicknaming prowess, Y/N’s had come from a particularly rowdy night at her apartment that had culminated in an explosive game of Candyland. She’d been called sugarplum, the Duke of Swirl, King Kandy himself, and even the poor, unfortunate Gloppy ever since. 

Leaving Emily reeling to return to her desk, she waited for Derek’s lucky White Sox ball cap to make its rounds. Y/N watched as Derek handed it to Penelope first, who squealed when she read the name from the slip of paper she had pulled. JJ sighed dramatically at the sight of the ball cap — but Y/N caught her grinning at her piece of paper, too. As the hat passed through the disapproving hands of Hotch and Rossi she heard a string of curses come from up the stairs. Prentiss, wide-eyed, picked a name with trepidation, and couldn’t seem to make up her mind as to whether it was a good or bad choice. Y/N smiled, things were getting interesting now. 

Derek had to tap Spencer pretty hard on the shoulder to get him to look up from his book — Dr. Reid had the gift of being impervious to boredom — and thrust the ball cap directly in front of him. Y/N watched as Spencer giggled and glanced at Morgan — you could see his mouth move, “no way!” — and reluctantly, but with a smile, take a name out of the hat. As Derek moved on Spencer dove straight back into his book. 

Now only Y/N was left to choose. She beamed at Morgan as he made his way towards her and dropped the hat on her keyboard.

“You got me all hyped up with that smile of yours, lemon swirl. C’mon, you’re up.” 

Her smile widened as she opened the remaining slip of paper, careful to keep it out of Morgan’s line of sight — 

It read, in a lopsided, loopy scrawl: _Spencer_.

Perfect.

As she walked through the embossed double doors a few hours later to head home, she caught sight of the communal blackboard hanging nearby. A message was scrawled in large lettering, "BAU Profs (& JJ & Garcia), Friday evening, 8 pm, be there." 

* * *

  


Y/N had initiated the passing of the hat on a Wednesday afternoon, leaving two days until the main event was supposed to occur. 

It was Thursday morning now, and Y/N stood slumped over the counter in the BAU break room watching her coffee slowly drip down from the machine into her mug, listening to the gurgling and whirring sounds that the aging machine made. She hadn’t slept much last night — she had been up late, plotting and preparing for Friday night, mulling over every possibility of how she could take the most advantage of the opportunity that had been dropped into her lap with that tiny slip of paper. 

Suddenly she felt a presence creep up behind her and, recognizing the wide and purposeful tread of a certain doctor, she muttered under her breath, “speak of the devil!” 

“Did you say something?” These were the first words that Spencer had spoken to her today (the clock reads 7:45), and he punctuated his question by reaching over her slumped body to open a creaky cabinet door and pull out his favorite mug. Her breath hitched at the feeling of his warm exhale tickling the back of her neck. 

“Oh, just cursing myself for thinking I’d be any good at work this early in the morning,” she responded, turning to face Spencer as he replaced her mug with his under the waiting spout. 

“You know, you are here a lot earlier than usual. Becoming some kind of workaholic, are we? Or is Chester making home life unbearable?” His eyes twinkled as Y/N sipped her coffee. He drummed his fingers on the table in a steady rhythm and was bouncing his leg against the counter; Dr. Reid was at his finest — full of nervous energy. 

Chester was Y/N’s aging tabby cat, a remnant of her childhood who she couldn’t bear to leave at her parent’s house when she moved to Virginia all those years ago. 17 years and still kicking, he was a wonder. 

Y/N faked a dramatic gasp, whirling to point an accusatory finger at Spencer. “I will not tolerate Chester slander, from you especially. He’s a darling, and you know it.” Her once heavy eyes were full of a challenge, and her slumped body had shot upright in a defiant posture. 

“Just like his Mom,” Spencer replied with a small smile. Before Y/N could say anything he retrieved his coffee from the machine and turned on his heel to head back to his desk. She watched, coffee cooling in her hand, as he picked up the book he had left spread open, face down on a pile of papers. The cover read — _Bare: George Michael, His Own Story_. Shaking off the strangeness of his reading material, Y/N estimated he’d be done with it by 8:45. He seemed to be taking a leisurely pace, even for Dr. Reid. 

Now fully awake, Y/N returned to her desk to watch as the rest of the BAU trickled in and the office came to life, but mostly she let Spencer’s words run on repeat in her brain as she muddled through some busy work to help the hours pass. _Just like his Mom._ Whatever he meant by that, the phrase had made Y/N’s stomach jump and heart rate quicken. 

She had known the infamous Dr. Reid for going-on three years, ever since they both joined the BAU’s profiling squad on the same, drizzling March day. She remembers sitting around the round table in the briefing room for the first time, watching as JJ laid out the details of her first case so quickly that she barely retained the information. Before she knew it, they were on the jet, and the only comforting presence was that of the lanky Spencer Reid, who, looking as equally freaked out as her at the prospect of hitting the streets for the first time, gave her a reassuring smile across the plane before getting up to sit by her side and ask about the book she had been pretending to read for the past half hour. 

Looking back, it must’ve been hell for the rest of their team training two profilers at once, but Spencer and Y/N made it easier on them because they came to rely on each other so much. After almost every case Y/N would crash at Spencer’s apartment, both a mess of limbs on his faded green couch, snoring lightly as whatever late night comedy show was on murmured in the background. If it was a weekend, they’d migrate to Y/N’s in the morning for breakfast — Spencer barely knew how not to burn his toast, and Y/N insisted that she worked best in her own kitchen — and Spencer would tidy up Y/N’s apartment as a thank you for her kindness, grumpy old Chester following him around as he made piles of laundry and stacked old magazines in corners of the living room. 

Now, after three years of sharing each other’s space and growing into their roles as the resident dream team of the squad, Chester meowed whenever he heard Spencer’s signature knock on the door and Y/N always brought a new book from her collection to lend to Spencer’s aging next door neighbor, Ida, who watched from her balcony every weekend as the pair came in and out of Spencer’s building — sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but always together. 

What was a girl to do? Y/N knew that the old cliche wasn’t true — men and women could be friends platonically, she saw it all the time — and she certainly didn’t want to make anyone believe that her and Spencer’s friendship wasn’t sincere. Quite the contrary, Spencer was the closest friend she’d ever had. 

But she couldn’t deny the fact that, since the very first time she stayed at his place — after that first, grueling case, when she felt the horrors of humanity like a knife through her chest for the first time — warmth flooded her body when Spencer touched her, held her, hugged her, even when he just held her hand. That first night he had been hesitant — Spencer had to warm up to people before he liked to be affectionate — but they had both been so destroyed from their first assignment that he couldn’t help but rub her shoulder as she buried her head into his neck to hide her tears. And that had been it for her. 

He made her feel safe, he made her feel loved, he made her feel proud to know him. Watching him give his first college lecture had made her heart expand three sizes — she knew she must’ve looked ridiculous crying in the back row of that lecture hall, but she just couldn’t help it. He was her favorite person, and he was achieving such amazing things right in front of her eyes. Not to mention that watching him gesture at his white board full of notes with this sleeves rolled up to his elbows activated some kind of feeling deep in her stomach that she didn’t even know had existed. 

So, what did this all add up to? As Y/N had discovered long ago, she loved Spencer Reid deeply. No other word was large enough to encompass her feelings for him, and that one barely did the trick. She was sure Spencer could come up with a few possible synonyms for her, but for obvious reasons, he didn’t seem to be the person to ask. 

Spencer, though, was hard to read. Despite their close friendship, Y/N knew there was a lot that she didn’t know about him. If she was being honest, she leaned more on his shoulder than he did on hers. She had always been an open book, Spencer, not so much — but she had accepted this, chocking it up to his history. Unfortunately, it made it hard to know if he felt the same way. 

Periodically, he would pull away — sometimes for days or weeks at a time, avoiding her apartment and even her gaze at work, giving short, terse answers to any prying questions she posed. Sometimes she wondered if his mom was doing badly, or if he was having nightmares again, but he never gave any explanation. Eventually he would come back, and everything would be as it always was. Until the next time, of course. 

But this winter had been one of the good times — Spencer was laughing at her jokes, spending late nights at her apartment, even reading to her on the long flights home on the jet after hard cases. That’s why she knew now was the time to do it, and a perfect opportunity had fallen into her lap, literally.

Spencer had questioned her early arrival to work that morning, and rightfully so, as Y/N was the antithesis of a morning person. But unbeknownst to him, she had arrived at work before the sun even rose in order to scout out the territory and to formulate a game plan for tomorrow evening’s festivities. Walking around the elevated hallways this morning ideas occurred to her rapid fire and she could see the entire sequence unfold before her very eyes. Taking a few graceful spins for good measure, she concluded that _yes, this would do very nicely_. 

But for now, she was back at her desk and typing away sadly at her computer. The clock read 9:00 — Spencer’s George Michael biography had been abandoned long ago and she could hear Morgan and Prentiss discussing lunch possibilities already. She willed Friday evening to come faster. 

* * *

Y/N was the first to arrive on Friday night — since it had been her idea, she volunteered to bring the snacks and set up the office in preparation for the event to follow. No alcohol on FBI premises, unfortunately, but the profilers were enough of a party on their own, and she was sure some would pregame before their arrival in order to loosen up before the big night. 

Spencer was the first to arrive, walking over to his desk to take off his scarf and coat and hang up his bag before walking over to the refreshment table to help Y/N set up. He’d only seen her a few hours before, but since then she’d transformed into a costume so accurate, he swore she was a time traveller. 

Turning around to face him, Y/N’s large skirt swung with her movement, the satin fabric catching the glow of the emergency lights of the office beautifully. The dress fell right below her knees, showing off a pair of elegant satin heels, cream — to match the dress — and the wide boat neck line of the frock was framed by a fluffy white shawl that looked like it had breathed in a former life. Topped off with a pair of pristine evening gloves and a sparkling tiara and necklace set, she looked like she’d walked straight off a Hollywood red carpet, right behind Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly. 

Spencer smiled at her tiara nestled in her hair, and had to remind himself she was waiting for him to speak. “You look…stunning. You’re glittering,” he breathed out, trying to hide the way his mouth wouldn’t close. 

“Don’t worry, it’s faux,” Y/N assured him, fiddling with her fur before returning to setting out the paper plates.

“I’d expect nothing less from our resident vegetarian,” Spencer smirked as she rolled her eyes. Before she could retaliate, she realized something. 

“Spencer, you’re not dressed!” Giving him a once over she saw nothing but his regular old cardigan and tie combo with his ratty converse barely hanging on to his feet. “You know the rules, and I will have _no_ spoilsports tonight.” She huffed at him expectantly. 

Chuckling, Spencer walked over to a duffel bag he had left by his desk. “Not so fast, Y/N, it’s all in here. I’m just going to head to the bathroom and change.” With that he was gone, and before she knew it Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ had waltzed into the bullpen. 

The team had perfected the set-up after the first couple of times they did this. Derek was in charge of lighting — he had picked up a few spotlights from an estate sale and had learned how to hook them up just right to cast a gentle glow over the office. JJ had always managed decorations, but now with Emily’s help, glittering fairy lights were wound around the railing of the walkways and noisemakers were passed out to every desk to ensure maximum applause level. Penelope kept a powerful portable speaker in the bottom drawer of her desk just for the occasion.

They all looked marvelous — Derek in a greaser type get up, leather jacket and sleeked black wig and all. JJ had gone for a Madonna vibe, teasing her hair and pulling out every neon clothing item she owned. Emily was sporting more of an emo look, hair falling in her face with dark, messy make up to match, wearing ripped jeans and a ratty old tee. 

Soon, the team was assembled. Traditionally every person sat at their own desk to form a scattered audience, save Hotch, Rossi, JJ, and Penelope, who pulled up a chair wherever they could find an empty spot. Everyone was accounted for except for Spencer — who was taking an exceedingly long time in the bathroom — but it was ten past 8:00, and Y/N was raring to go, so she made her way to makeshift center stage. 

The team whooped and hollered, everyone holding plates full cheese and crackers and cupcakes Y/N had baked the night before. Penelope even pulled out her noisemaker, making the team fall into a fit of giggles. 

“Pen, my darling, love the enthusiasm — but I would save it, because the show has only just begun.” Y/N’s declaration made the room erupt again in fits of laughter. They all fell silent at her request. 

“You all know the rules, so I’ll save you the lecture. What I will say is I want no one half-assing it tonight — this team is in desperate need of some entertainment and we’re going to make it happen. Am I clear?” Y/N punctuated her rallying cry with a swing of her noisemaker, but before the team could respond, Y/N’s mouth fell open as Spencer finally emerged from the bathroom and took his seat at his desk. The team, sensing a change, turned to look as well. 

Spencer had gelled his hair upwards in the same direction, and it even appeared that he had sprayed some blonde highlights on to lighten the ends. He wore a bright pink, wide collared button down with a few buttons undone, creating a deep v in his neckline and exposing the sharp edges of his collar bone. A jean jacket vest over top of — you guessed it, rolled up sleeves — over wide legged white pants, all that he was missing was … _yes_ , there it was — a clip on cross earring dangling from his left ear. 

“George Michael,” Y/N whispered. Spencer fidgeted at the attention, removing his aviator sunglasses. 

“No half-assing, right?” He addressed the room carefully. 

Morgan broke the silence. “Pretty boy. My man!” Everyone broke into shouts and hollers and cranked their noisemakers at full force. 

“Let the festivities begin!” Y/N shouted before taking her seat. She pulled a name from the White Sox cap that was perched on a nearby table, and Morgan was called to the front. 

Oh, how the BAU loved their lip sync battles. 

It had started when the team had been tiring of their normal de-stressing routines. Going out to the bars just to get wasted wasn’t cutting it anymore, and one more game of paper football would’ve driven them all crazy. Morgan had invented a creative alternative after recalling a memorable high school talent show, and the rest was history. 

They had been doing this for about a year, every couple of months or so, when a lull in their work would require a gap to be filled. They refined the process as they went along; now, the battle required you to sing a song directly to someone else on the team, hence the name pulling. Complete with costumes and lighting design, the goal was to embody your roll, and the judge? Applause. 

Derek had pulled JJ this time, and, remembering her love for the movie _Grease_ , had chosen a timeless classic, “Summer Nights,” opting to sing — or, better yet, stumble through — every single part of the song. Growing increasingly more offbeat as he mouthed earnestly into the hairbrush they saved for this special occasion, JJ was in tears with laughter as he brought the song to a close with the iconic — “those su-uh-mmer … niiiiiiiiiights!” 

Per tradition, JJ was to follow Morgan, and according to the applausometer, she had big shoes to fill. As the song drifted out of the speakers, JJ turned her back to the team, tapping her foot slowly as she turned around, running her hands through her enormous hair style. As soon as the team heard the words “life is a mystery” they turned to see Rossi’s face as red as a tomato. Only the BAU would know about his secret Madonna obsession, and JJ milked that moment completely in her neon sweat bands. 

Her performance garnered quite the applause, although probably causing Rossi to overheat. Y/N made her way to the snack table in between songs and ran into Spencer by the baby carrots. 

“Enjoying yourself?” She asked, absentmindedly. 

“More than you know,” he replied, gazing at her legs delicately crossed as she leaned against the table. 

Rossi, who never approved of this exercise from the beginning, had arrived wearing a one piece worker’s jumpsuit, a faded blue with undistinguishable patches and pockets full of holes. Altogether tame, but still strange to see on Rossi’s usually well-dressed frame. Pulling out a tool box from under his desk, he walked purposefully towards the front, making sure to sigh in distaste the whole way there. 

Emily’s face broke into a wide smile as Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” started to blare through the speakers, and the team cheered as Dave mimed his way through a hard day on the job, wiping his forehead with a cloth and lamenting the woes of working women in America. Emily couldn’t help but hug him as he finished, whispering in his ear to thank him for choosing her favorite anthem, making it her perfect first BAU lip sync extravaganza. 

The bar was high — but Emily could jump higher. Her emo get up hadn’t made sense until she turned her body to face Hotch, arms and legs crossed as always — totally unavailable and distant. But when the opening notes to “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance came through the speakers, he cracked a small smile, watching Emily swing her hair around with as much teenage angst as she could muster. Sure, this music didn’t exactly align with Hotch’s era of adolescence, but he hadn’t been able to deny to the team that when he heard it on the radio one day he had head banged like never before. “It reminds me of all of you!” he said that day, the team laughing back at him. 

The night was wearing on, and the team was loosening and relaxing into their seats. Y/N had removed her tiara from her head for a moment, and those who had already performed were slowly shedding bits of their costumes, returning to their normal selves. The room was happy, warm, and bubbly, and for the first time in awhile Y/N’s face hurt from smiling. 

Penelope was seated close to Spencer, munching away at her third bowl of trail mix. “Y/N really pulled out all the stops tonight, huh? Look at her, she’s fucking glowing,” she admired, watching Y/N adjust her fur as she laughed at something JJ had said. 

“She really is,” Spencer replied. If Y/N hadn’t been so engrossed in the performances, she would’ve seen that Spencer had missed every single one — he’d just been watching her. 

But with four more performances to go, Y/N only tensed as the night went on. She had hoped to go last, or at least towards the end, but she hadn’t anticipated how nervous she would be. She could barely look at Spencer without flinching and fighting the urge to run away, and she didn’t need anything scaring her away from finally making a move tonight. 

Hotch had assented to doing his part. The team quieted down as he took to the makeshift spotlight, squinting as the bright light hit him in the face. Morgan had been shocked that he had convinced him to participate the first time around, and since Hotch had showed up with a performance at every battle since then, his fellow profilers had been treated to a side of him they never thought they’d see — a remnant from his days in _The Pirates of Penzance_ , perhaps.

He wore, disappointingly, what he wore most days — a dark suit and tie and well-polished patent leather shoes — save for a dapper black fedora, and he swung a large umbrella around his right wrist as he waited for the music to start. 

Hotch spun around one of the pillars in the middle of the office floor and tossed his hat to Y/N at the climax of the song; she could almost see the rain falling steadily and Gene Kelly splashing in every nearby puddle in his iconic performance of Singin’ in the Rain. It was her favorite movie, and Hotch gave it his all, twirling in a large circle with his umbrella open wide as his big finish. 

Y/N ran up to give him a hug as soon as he was finished, but the raucous applause from the rest of the group couldn’t quiet the gnawing in her gut as she realized it was finally her turn. She glanced around the room, finding the team’s eyes glued to her expectantly. Spencer beamed at her, flying off the high of Hotch’s performance and waiting excitedly for Y/N’s — who, out of everyone, had the most victories at lip sync battle night since its inception. 

She gulped. “Just — just one second, I have to go get set up,” the team cheered as she dashed up to Hotch’s office while Derek queued up her song on the speaker set. 

She stayed out of sight of the doorway of Hotch’s office as the opening chords echoed through the bullpen. She glanced quickly at her reflection in the window, readjusting her tiara and fluffing her fur. Her heart was pounding — and she wasn’t entirely sure she’d make it down the steps without tripping in these heels — but if there was one thing Y/N knew for sure, it was that when she put her mind to something, she gave it her all. 

  
“No half-assing,” she whispered. The rallying cry for the team secretly was meant more for her than anyone else. 

_You’re just too good to be true / can’t take my eyes off of you_

She spun out of the office with every ounce of drama she could muster, plastering herself against the wall, basking in the spotlight, throwing one hand over her forehead with the tortured grace of a high class lounge singer as she sang the first few lyrics under her breath. 

Faintly she could hear Morgan’s wolf whistle and Emily shouting “hot damn!” — but her heart thundered so loudly she barely registered the team’s response. She hadn’t dared look at Spencer yet — he didn’t yet know it was for him. 

_At long last love has arrived / and I thank God I’m alive_

She took the stairs down into the bullpen one by one, punctuating each line with a stride. Taking a circuit around the collection of desks, she passed by every member of the team, running her hand across their shoulders or ruffling their hair as they grinned and clapped for her performance. 

Arriving at Spencer’s desk last, she drew in a deep breath before removing her fur and, kneeling in front of him, draped it loosely around his shoulders. Spencer slowly raised his aviators until they were perched atop his heavily gelled hair. Their eyes locked. 

_Pardon the way that I stare / there’s nothing else to compare_

If claiming him with her fur hadn’t done the trick, Y/N kept her eyes on Spencer through the rest of the song. Now free from the cumbersome accessory she bounced around the bullpen as the song picked up its pace, loudly singing _I love you baby_ into the hairbrush microphone, and spinning around and around as her puffy skirt floated like a cloud in time to the music. 

Eventually Y/N lost herself in the song, buoyed by the electric energy of her team cheering for her. She maintained her stare on Spencer’s shocked face and tried to judge whether his reaction was positive or negative. He had barely moved from his seat and hadn’t managed to close his mouth yet, looking positively insane with his dangly cross earring and Y/N’s white fur over his shoulders.

Her big finished involved her leaning over the banister outside of Hotch’s office singing _Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down I pray, oh, pretty baby_ and sending a final wink towards Spencer before dramatically spinning into Hotch’s office once again. She could hear the team erupt in applause, noisemakers going wild, and she took a moment to adjust her tiara before opening the door to accept her standing ovation — but when she opened the door, one notable chair was empty. 

Spencer was gone, white fur and all, and no one seemed to have noticed his departure amongst the raucous celebration. The door to the BAU was still swinging, but the doctor was nowhere to be found. 

Y/N went pale, all confidence suddenly swept away at the realization that her performance had flopped miserably with the one person it was intended for. In a feeble attempt to regain the mood, Penelope started another round of applause before grabbing Y/N by the arm and whispering, “It’s okay — I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll go next. He’ll come back.” Y/N nodded dumbly before returning to her seat. She briefly considered going after him, but then realized that she couldn’t possibly face him after she had clearly made him so uncomfortable. He would be withdrawn, distant, and who knew how long it would take for him to come back this time. She settled for plastering on a wobbly smile and settling in for Garcia’s performance. 

Penelope managed to rekindle the night’s energy by giving a sultry performance of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On” to Derek — a dream come true for her, to be sure. She wore a long, pink feathery boa that she wrapped around Derek’s neck, tickling his ears, and batted the biggest puppy dog eyes at him through her bright pink heart shaped glasses. For her big finish she showered Morgan in fake rose petals that she pulled out of a basket at his feet — _oh baby, let’s get it on —_ as the team went wild, forgetting about Spencer’s sudden departure. But Y/N hadn’t forgotten, and no matter how bad she felt for ignoring Penelope’s show-stopping number, she couldn’t stop her eyes from glancing at the double doors every other second, just in case he came back in. 

He did eventually — he gingerly set Y/N’s fur down on a desk right inside the door as Garcia concluded her big finish. He seemed partially restored, smiling at Penelope’s antics and fiddling with notecards as he prepared for his performance. Y/N would’ve found this sudden return more reassuring if he hadn’t been so deliberately avoiding her eyes. She crumpled further into her dress, feeling guilt and shame and most of all, a deep desire to apologize bubble up inside her. But that would have to wait. 

Spencer walked right up to the front of the room, seemingly determined to not undermine the evening’s show. He was the last to perform, and _by god_ , he thought to himself — _I’m not letting this incredibly accurate George Michael costume go to waste_. He had opted for a broom instead of the hairbrush microphone — something to quell his fidgeting hands that he hadn’t been able to stop since, well — since seeing Y/N in that dress for the first time tonight. It was the fur around his shoulders that really did him in.

He didn’t love lip sync battle night, to say the least, but he had grown to enjoy entertaining his coworkers and letting his guard down. He did love Halloween for a reason— being someone else for a day was freeing, and he liked the opportunity to escape his own clumsy body and pretend for a moment. And if Spencer was good for anything, it was remembering minute details about a person that seem insignificant at the time but become crucial later on. Hence, the George Michael costume, and why he marched right up to Penelope as the opening notes of his iconic hit “Faith” played from the speakers. Garcia squealed and clapped in her seat as the doctor worked the room, passionately singing into the broom handle with all the concentrated energy of a certain 80s pop star. 

_Well it takes a strong man, baby / so I’m showing you the door_

Y/N had to admit, this song wasn’t helping her growing feeling of despair — even if it was heaven to see Spencer even fake singing about _touching your body_. 

At the next chorus Spencer snatched Penelope’s pink feather boa from around Derek’s neck and started swinging it lasso style before letting it ricochet out, landing in Emily’s lap. The team was eating his performance up, and as he finished the song, heaving and sweat dripping down his forehead, they erupted into the loudest applause of the night, JJ shouting, “that’s my favorite genius!”

Y/N’s pounding heart was momentarily quieted as she got a glimpse of Spencer’s wide smile as he accepted the second standing ovation of the night, but her pulse quickly skyrocketed when his gaze fell on hers and his face instantly fell. She couldn’t handle his anger or his far-off expression right now, not when she had just poured her heart and soul into a declaration of love that went altogether unnoticed. She moved towards the refreshment table, beginning to clean up empty bags of chips in order to distract herself from falling apart then and there. 

Spencer noticed, and his eyes dulled as he realized exactly how upset Y/N appeared. He excused himself from the team — who had already begun packing up their things to go home — to head towards the bathroom. The gel in his hair was driving him insane, but he also needed a moment to collect his thoughts. 

Removing the clip-on earring, which had left an angry red indentation on his earlobe, Spencer bent over the sink to try and rinse the product out of his hair. When he closed his eyes all he could hear was Y/N’s labored breathing as she finished her song earlier that night — a sound he could imagine in a variety of other contexts — and his mind was full of images of her pale shoulders shown off by the neckline of that gorgeous dress. _That dress_ , he thought, _should be illegal in all 50 states_. His heart clenched and he angrily told his brain to stop that train of thought — nothing good would come of it. 

He bumped his head against the faucet as he jumped at a knock at the door. “Jesus, Morgan, I swear to god — ” Looking up, water dripping down his face and hand gingerly nursing his head, he paused his cursing. 

“We need to talk, Spencer,” Penelope waltzed into the men’s bathroom with purpose, hoisting herself up on the sink counter and swinging her legs back in forth. 

“Garcia, this is the men’s restroom,” Spencer ventured, looking at her quizzically, sodden hair now forgotten. 

“And gender roles are a social construct. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about — and please, dry your hair before you qualify for a wet t-shirt contest,” she chastised him, handing him a small hand towel from her purse, which he gratefully accepted. He hadn’t noticed just how much his once crisp pink button down was sticking to his chest. _Great_. 

Removing a tube of lipstick and a compact mirror from her purse, Penelope began applying a fresh coat while addressing him. “Spencer, life is about risks. Without risks, nothing ever good comes.” She paused and thoughtfully examined herself in the small mirror. “May I remind you of the story of Franz Reichelt?” she asked him coyly, continuing to engross herself in her makeup. 

Spencer had a tendency to go into autopilot mode when asked to pull from the vast well of his eidetic memory. He fluffed his hair dry with the towel as he recounted. “Franz Reichelt was an Austrian inventor and tailor who plummeted to his death after he jumped from the Eiffel Tower while testing his brand new ‘parachute suit.’ Some call him the ‘Flying Tailor’ now — but Penelope, I fail to see how that is an example of a good outcome of risk taking,” Spencer’s brow furrowed further. 

“What else do you remember about Franz?” Penelope pressed him, returning her lipstick and compact to her bag to fix Spencer with a piercing stare. 

Spencer thought for a moment. “I remember that he received permission to test his invention from the Eiffel Tower under the guise that he would be using dummies. He convinced all his family and friends of it too, but on testing day, he insisted that it would have to be him. He essentially went down with his life’s passion.” He was slowly squeezing the now soaked towel out over the sink bowl, avoiding eye contact with Penelope. “Why do you ask?”

For a moment, all he could hear was the gentle dripping of the water into the sink. 

“Where do you go when you disappear?” Spencer looked up quickly to see Penelope’s eyes boring into him, an unreadable expression on her face. 

“Penelope, I — ” Spencer tried to respond, but she interrupted him. 

“I don’t mean literally, of course. You know what I mean,” she said as she suddenly became nervous, fidgeting with the straps of her handbag and looking down at her feet swinging back and forth. “You just get weird and distant, and it’s like we lose you for a little while. I notice when you go, but,” once again fixing her gaze on Spencer’s now wide and glassy eyes, “no one bares the brunt of it more than Y/N.” Spencer could do nothing but stare at her with pain stricken features. 

Penelope sighed and continued on. “You don’t have to answer to me, Spencer — you have to answer to her. And I brought up our dear friend Franz because, well — ” she jumped down from the counter with a satisfying click of her heel, and caught Spencer’s eyes again in the reflection of the mirror. “Life is nothing without a little risk. You only get to love someone if you put your heart and soul on the line, just like Franz did for his life’s work. Do you think, if you could ask him right now, he would say he regret jumping?” 

All she got in return was a quiet, watery stare. 

She pressed on. “I don’t think so. I think when we love something we’re willing to lose everything for it, even for the slim chance that it’ll all work out. I think love is about jumping with a faulty parachute sometimes,” Penelope placed her hand on the door to leave, “and to trust that you’ll have a soft landing anyway.” 

  
Spencer was still staring himself down in the mirror. 

“And Spencer?” Penelope barely spoke above a whisper. 

He turned when she said his name. 

“I don’t think Franz regrets his decision, but I think you might if you don’t act soon.” With that the door shut behind her, and Spencer was left to stare at himself with frizzy hair, a cross earring in his pocket, and wet splotches all down the front of his pink button down. 

* * *

The BAU had returned to its eery quietness, and Y/N felt distinctly how each shadow appeared more like a monster than before with her friends filling the room with light and laughter. Penelope had been the last to go, pulling Y/N in for a quick hug and a kiss before scurrying off, pink feather boa wrapped around her neck like the movie star she was. 

Now Y/N was alone, filling a garbage bag full of the remnants of the refreshments table and sweeping up what had been left behind by the team. Morgan had taken the lights down and Prentiss and JJ had dismantled their decorations, but she had sworn to them that she could handle the rest, wanting some time alone to mull over what had happened. 

It was clear enough from Spencer’s reaction to her performance that he didn’t feel the same way about her — it made him uncomfortable, so much so that he didn’t even want to be in the same room as her. As much as that broke her heart, it was at least a confirmation of something she had suspected all along — that there would always be some kind of gulf between her and Spencer, a gulf she felt widen every time he became a different person for days or weeks at a time. There was only so much she could do, and above everything, she respected Spencer. If this is what he wanted, so be it. 

As she resigned herself to a night of wallowing in front of whatever rom com was on television when she got home, wiping the last of the crumbs off the table, she jumped and turned around as a quiet voice came from across the room. 

“I’m a coward, Y/N.” 

Before she could take in his words she had to take in _him —_ and he was a sight to behold. She thought he had left with the rest of the team, but no, there he was — his once gelled hair had been returned to its normal Spencer chaotic nest, and her heart clenched at the familiar sight. Clip-on earring long gone, the only remnants of his costume were his rolled up bright pink button down — which was suspiciously, wet? — and his white flared pants, an altogether not-Spencer look, but he was looking more like himself. And he sounded, well, wrecked. 

But then it hit her. “What?” she asked. 

Spencer took a ragged breath and ran a hand through his knotted hair before speaking again. “I’m a coward, and I owe you an apology.” Y/N was glued to her spot by the refreshment table, and he slowly walked over to her, approaching her as if she was a wounded animal about to flee. 

“I don’t understand, I’m the one who should be apologizing, I’m the one who made you so uncomfortable — ” It all came out of her in a rush, and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. But he stopped her when he reached for her hand. 

Holding it gingerly he said, “No. I’m the one who has to apologize.” Her wide eyes stared up at him expectantly and he gulped at the sight. “I think — um, I think there might be a question that you’ve been wanting to ask me, and I want you to ask me now.” He peered into her eyes, willing her to understand. 

Y/N was still reeling, distracted by the warmth of his hand holding hers — _so delicately, like he was afraid of breaking it —_ and still wishing he would just shut up so she could apologize, but she realized that something was strange. He was talking to her like it was one of the good times, like he cared for her, like he loved her even (if she dare think it at all) and she realized —

“Where do you go when you disappear?” It came out like a whisper. 

Spencer nodded to himself slightly, as if urging himself to continue.

“Will you sit down?” he asked. Guiding her to a chair, he took a seat of his own right across from her, pulling it so close that their knees were bumping in to each other and he could now hold both of her hands in his own. He took a breath to focus because holding her hand in his was just so distracting but _that had to wait_. 

She squeezed his hands back tightly. “Most of my life has been about learning how to survive,” he began, talking towards their joined hands. “I’ve told you about my parents, and, well — I had a lot more responsibility to manage myself at 10 years old than any kid should have.” Y/N squeezed his hands again, forcing him to look up at her and match her watery eyes with his own. 

“No proper parents, graduating high school at 12 — my life has unfolded in such a way where I always ended up being the runt of the litter in every situation I encounter. Even now, when on a case with the team or standing in front of the podium at a lecture,” he paused to suck in a breath, “I feel like I’m always fighting for a spot, for a reason to be kept around. For survival.” 

Closing his eyes tightly, he continued. “It became such a big part of who I am that I think, in my subconscious, I’d resigned myself to a life of survival, to always feeling each day like I could be kicked off the team or deemed unworthy. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a set of rules to live by.” He grimaced at the thought. “But then, there was you.” 

Y/N shook her head, already drying out of tears at Spencer’s words and she pleaded, “Spencer, c’mon, I’m dying here.” 

He chuckled lightly. “Alright, okay — Y/N, you make me feel like there’s something more to life than just getting by, than just catching the criminal and going home at night just to — just to have to do it again tomorrow. You make me feel safe, you make me feel loved, and — well, I’m proud to know you.” His smile brightened. 

Y/N thought, _wait, those words sound awfully familiar._

“But that also scared the shit out of me, because when you spend your whole life with no parachute, it doesn’t seem like enough if someone just hands you a faulty one.”

Y/N paused. “What kind of metaphor is that?” 

Spencer laughed, holding her hands more tightly. “Nothing — blame Garcia, forget I said anything — the point is, it’s hard falling in love with someone when you’ve spent your whole life being convinced that you never deserved to be cared for.” 

“Spencer … ” Y/N’s body had found a way to produce more tears, somehow.

“So, I ran and hid! It was stupid and childish, I know, but anytime I felt like I couldn’t bear it being near you but not _being yours_ I distanced myself in hopes of regaining some control.” He finally met her gaze again after giving his speech to their melded hands, “And well, look how well that turned out.” 

She was giggling, a snot nosed mess hanging on Spencer’s every word, and she was gorgeous. 

“I know I like to talk, but Jesus, Y/N — this was a very long winded way to tell you that I’m in love with you.” He choked on the words. “And as someone very wise once told me, life is nothing without risks.” Y/N’s sniffling fell quiet, urging him continue. “We risk it all for a chance to be with the ones we love, and you’re — ” he shook his head with a smile, “ you’re my biggest risk, Y/N.” 

He reached up to wipe away her tears. 

“I know I ran after your song tonight, but it was just because I knew I couldn’t hide it anymore, and that scared me so much. You looked _so fucking beautiful,_ and you were singing all the things I’d been longing for you to say, but now, with a little push from someone I trust more than most people — ” He blushed at his words as he spoke faster and faster, then suddenly stopped. 

“I don’t want to just survive any more, Y/N. I want to be with you, I want to love you. I want to take this risk.” He stared at her, taking in her red and splotchy but glowing face. 

She pulled a handkerchief from Spencer’s pant’s pocket, knowing he carried one wherever he went — he blanched, embarrassed for not having offered — but Y/N didn’t notice as she wiped her eyes and nose dry. 

Blowing her nose, she finally spoke. “Is it my turn to talk now?” she asked with a smile. 

Spencer jumped on the question. “Of course! I’m so sorry, I’ve been such an ass, talking over you this whole time, please don’t h — ”

She pulled their lips together with one swift tug on the collar of his shirt. 

His reaction was visceral, grasping her hips tightly to lift her from her seat to his — miraculously navigating her massive skirt to make sure it fell smoothly across Spencer’s thighs. Her hands framed his face and tugged gently on his out-of-control curls as his arms wrapped so tightly around her middle that their chests came flush together. The kiss was all heat and gentle intensity, more intimate than Y/N had ever experienced. Spencer’s kisses were like velvet, threatening to swallow her whole as they petered out rhythmically, until he was merely pecking her lips, eyes, nose, and cheeks. He buried his face in her neck. 

“Y/N.” She heard a faint rumble tickle the top of her cleavage. 

“Hm?” 

“You haven’t actually said anything, per se, and I’m kind of dying for you to say it.” 

“Say what?” He groaned and the vibrations made her giggle, his arms some how pulling her closer. 

“Don’t tease.” 

Returning her hands to frame his face, she lifted his eyes to hers, momentarily shocked by his blown out pupils, which she was sure matched her own. 

“I love you, Spencer. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. Just promise me something?” She kissed the corners of his mouth as his smile grew from her admission of love. 

“Anything.” His voice was low and gravelly, unrecognizable to her. 

“Next time you disappear, take me with you.” Her voice broke at the end of the sentence. 

He kissed her softly. “There won’t be a next time,” he assured her. 

Suddenly, Spencer jumped as Y/N hopped to her feet, groaning at the feeling of finally kicking off her heels after hours of teetering around in them. She headed for her phone, and reconnected it to the speaker system. 

“Y/N,” Spencer warned, “I don’t think I have it in me to do George Michael again,” but he quickly realized he was wrong as the opening notes began to play. 

“Don’t worry, I just want a do over on _my song_.” She beckoned for him to get up and follow her. 

Groaning as he stood, “Our song, more like it.” 

She gasped dramatically, “Spencer Reid, I never would’ve taken you to be such a cheeseball!” 

He shrugged his shoulders and responded cheekily, “I have my moments.” 

“Okay lover-boy, let’s dance!” Y/N called, already swinging herself around the BAU, filling it with light and laughter once again. 

Beginning to feel the music, Spencer suddenly remembered something — “Who won tonight?” 

Y/N, already out of breath from spinning, said, “Don’t care. Probably us,” smirking at Spencer from across the room. 

Spencer smiled at her remark, already feeling like his risk had given him the greatest reward. 

“Remind me to tell you about Franz Reichelt later,” he said with emphasis as he reached her and took her in his arms. 

“Save it for the drive back to my place,” she said with a wink.

_at long last love has arrived_

_and I thank God I’m alive_

_you’re just too good to be true_

_can’t take my eyes off of you_

An hour later, on the drive home with Spencer, Y/N swore that the dreary sludge of Quantico almost glowed in the moonlight. 

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, songs featured in this fic, which I don't own and claim no license to: 
> 
> Summer Nights - Grease  
> Like a Prayer - Madonna  
> 9 to 5 - Dolly Parton  
> Teenagers - My Chemical Romance  
> Singin' in the Rain - Gene Kelly   
> Let's Get it On - Marvin Gaye  
> Faith - George Michael  
> and the song that inspired it all, Can't Take My Eyes off You - Frankie Valli 
> 
> All the songs I chose are just based off my own vibes for different characters -- none come from the show itself.
> 
> Additionally, the George Michael autobiography mentioned briefly is real, but out of print and hard to get your hands on these days. I like to think that Spencer was just very committed to his role. 
> 
> Oh, and Franz's story comes from a very informative Wikipedia article. Apologies if it isn't 100% true to life.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
